


Controlled Crash

by Carleen



Category: Freier Fall | Free Fall (2013)
Genre: Big Gay Love Story, Closeted Gay Man, Free Fall, Free Fall Movie, Frier Fall, Frier Fall German English Subtitles, Frier Fall Movie, Gay Male Character, M/M, Male Slash, Post canon fix, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-03-31 15:05:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3982573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carleen/pseuds/Carleen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My take on what happened after the end of the movie. I couldn't leave it that way with Marc and Kay's story so unfinished. This contains major spoilers, if you haven't seen the movie, go watch it. What are you waiting for? Then come back and read my story. I hope you enjoy it. You'll let me know, okay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Summer to Your Heart

* * *

"What is this 'heart'? If I tear open that chest of yours, will I see it there? If I smash open that skull of yours, will I see it there?" ~Ulquiorra ―Tite Kubo, _Bleach_

* * *

Too drunk to curse his inability to fit his key in the lock, Officer Marc Borgmann finally threw his shoulder against the door of his small apartment and stumbled inside. Angrily throwing his keys and wallet on the side table, they somehow they landed on the floor instead. He managed a nearly unintelligible, "Fuck!" as the room tilted sideways when he bent to retrieve them.

With both hands and the wall to steady himself, he finally noticed an icy breeze reminding him the door is still open. Swaying on his feet, he stared at it with some confusion. After several tries, he managed to lock closed. Then he scrubbed his hand through his hair, aimed himself at the living area and staggered inside.

The apartment is small with the odor of spoiled food wafting lazily through the musty air. The kitchenette revealed a sink full of half-eaten frozen meals with a formation of empty beer bottles standing at attention nearby. Marc wrinkles his nose, waves a hand at the mess, knocks over a few bottles and keeps moving.

Three windows hold back the sun with dusty blankets nailed to their frames. The bathroom, a strictly utilitarian area, which any guest would enter at their peril. A single towel hangs crookedly from the shower stall. Across the room is a narrow closet where clean and pressed uniforms hang in precise order. The polished shoes and boots line up on the floor residing next his riot gear. His sidearm, clean and oiled hangs from a sturdy hook.

Barely out of his clothes he fell into bed and pulled the pillow over his face to block out the motion of the spinning room. He had turned off his cell phone just before he blacked out; he's in no shape to cover an extra shift tonight, and he's off tomorrow. The guilt, the lonely ache that fills every corner of his wretched body reaches for him, torturing him with their siren song of 'if only' and 'what if'. Some nights he blacks out quickly. There are other nights when it hits him like a hammer blow. Bad nights when he hugs a pillow to his chest and weeps for what he's thrown away. Then morning comes and thankfully it always comes. Sometimes he yearns for the blessed relief of a work day.

Tonight, he passed out curled into a fetal position hugging the second pillow. If he dreams, he doesn't remember when hours later he rolled slowly to his side from a tangle of dirty sheets. After a brave effort at sitting up he let his head sink into this hands. A groan echoed the throbbing pain in his head, and he squeezed his eyes to keep out the shards of sunlight.

Another stifled cry pushed him from the bed toward the bathroom. The well-muscled frame earned from endless hours of running and weightlifting is a sad and confusing contrast to the retching man with blood-shot eyes and gaunt cheeks. When the vomiting finally subsides, he rests his head on the toilet seat panting with effort.

During the day, when he puts on a uniform he is in control. If he never smiles? Well, no one expects a cop to smile. Professional, courageous and detached, he is the perfect law enforcement officer. With a uniform and sidearm, he has an identity. Without that mask in place the world is uncertain and the nights long and empty.

To hold back the darkness, he often works double shifts. Everyone knows Marc Borgmann is the one to call if you need someone to cover your shift. Known as the hardest working rookie in the department, he keeps going until he can no longer stay on his feet. Until he can fool himself into thinking he might fall asleep. Work is real, steady and affirming. His life, uncertain, shadowy and filled with unmet desires and shattered dreams.

A sob shook Marc's shoulders, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Once, his life was full of joy and anticipation. A small family and the selfless love of the woman who bore him a son. Parents who loved him and encouraged him and were delighted at the prospect of becoming grandparents. His father had told him many times to set goals with the promise of success. He'd followed his father's advice, by planning his future complete with objectives and goals and pursued them faithfully. Until Kay. With his hands, he uprooted everything his parents had taught was important. Tore it apart and left it the dirt to die of neglect. For all the loss and pain, he'd inflicted he wasn't a better man from any of it. Nothing learned. Nothing gained. Everything was gone.

He pounded his fist on the toilet seat.

Genuinely lucky they hadn't fired him from the police force. He'd stopped the drugs because it was just a matter of time before they demanded a drug test, and random test or not he'd have failed. No more drugs, not even the occasional cigarette. Drugs are part of his past, the glittering golden past that included Kay Engle. Smoking pot, giggling while they raided the refrigerator and made love on the kitchen floor after a midnight feast. Then crashing, gorged and exhausted into bed in a tangle of arms and legs.

No more drugs, no more Kay.

Alcohol is different. Alcohol is safe. The alcohol burned and numbed and made him forget. And everyone drank, so it was easy to hide.

There are many things he can think about don't haunt him. He knows his name, badge number and the serial number of his service weapon. He's also a father, a cop and he's a good cop. It's just that obviously he's awful with relationships. Hadn't he done all the right things? Accepted the pregnancy and supported her through it all.

At first, he'd been angry she'd allowed herself to get pregnant while he was in the middle of academy training. His life was stressful enough. Then, as her stomach grew, and she began to glow with the inner fire of motherhood, his attitude changed and besides she'd always been so easy to love. The pregnancy brought them closer, and his heart swelled with pride and love whenever he touched her baby bump.

That was all over now and every night he tortured himself with the guilt of his failures as a father and a man. A six-pack of beer does nothing to burn away the knowledge that far worse than hurting Bettina. He'd betrayed and humiliated her. A good father wouldn't behave this way, and he intended to be a good father to his son. His son… he has a son. Bettina begged him to stop drinking. Sometimes his hands shake so hard he's afraid to hold his little boy, and it breaks his heart. The child who recognizes him now and frowns with disappointment when he his father won't pick him up.

If he comes over drunk to see the baby again, she warned him, she would not allow him in.

Emotionally brittle days spent moving precariously along the dying branches of his life. Each branch about to break and dump him to the ground. The thought of going to a gay bar terrifies him now. I'm not gay, he screams, but no one listens. Only alcohol quiets the screaming, the guilt, and the isolation. At night, when he passes out, he's haunted by dreams of Kay filling him, branding him, and burning his flesh with need. Beard stubble on his thighs, warm strong hands touching him in ways no woman ever could.

Those dreams woke him in a cold sweat and a mess to clean up. The answer? Simply will away his libido with beer and whiskey. He wasn't any good with women, and he didn't want a man. Then he'd fall back into a dead sleep, where Kay whispers in his ear, I love you. I want you… only you. I'm not sleeping with anyone else!

And what was he supposed to do with that statement, 'I'm not sleeping with anyone else.' He knew it for what it was, a promise, an expression of hope and trust. He'd torn it up and crushed it under his feet as he ran from the enchanted comfort of Kay's apartment. The only place where he felt he could relax and share himself.

No woman could love him the way Kay had. Women with their gentle, hesitant fingers and the shy expectation in their eyes. Kay teased him, alternately using his cock like a battering ram or stroking him to mindless joy. He loved Kay's rough, calloused hands on his body. But he wasn't gay. He shouldn't have allowed a man to touch him that way. It was wrong. It was dirty. It was mind blowing. It was the most intense and gratifying experience of his life. Laying in bed with him, with no hesitation, or anxiety at saying or doing the wrong thing. Just smiles and a profound sense of belonging.

The string of nameless, faceless, women he slept with to prove he wasn't gay did nothing to quiet the dreams.

The women told him they loved him and fawned over his good looks. Told him how much they wanted his baby and wanted to be his wife. They cooked for him and tried to take care of him. He always made them leave, and he was never nice about it. He had sex with them when he was almost too drunk to perform, but they never seemed to mind. By morning, hung over and disgusted, he hated the sight of them. He despised the hurt and confusion he saw in their eyes. That was his punishment, his payment for the crime of cruelty and for what he'd done to Bettina and Kay.

The endless dark winter ends on a snowy night when he slips and stumbles over icy streets looking for a bar. His weary eyes can't make out the words on the sign, but the lights are on, and he hears people inside. With a pounding head, his shaking hands pushed the door open. His mouth waters for the taste of whiskey on his tongue.

Lingering by the door like a ghost no longer welcome among the living Marc tries to make sense of what he's seeing. A man with a friendly smile waves and beckons him over. Wait, he thinks, this can't be a bar, and turns to go. Walking toward him, the man extended his hand in greeting. With a profound sense of panic, Marc turned to leave. He knows there's another bar around the corner. But now there are people behind him and he's trapped. Anxiety rises and his eyes search for the exit grow more frantic by the moment. Why are these people talking to him, smiling as if they know him?

Welcome, they say and try to guide him toward the chairs lined up in rows. No! He turns to flee pushing at the smiling faces and extended hands.

No! Leave me alone.

Finally, he's at the door and rips it open; a winter blast knocks him back, blinding him with snow. He charged forward and ran straight into the arms of Kay Engle.

Kay grabbed his arms to stop his forward motion as Marc winds his fists into the lapels of Kay's jacket and blinks his eyes to focus. Time stops as they breathe into each other. Marc's lips open to receive the kiss he knows Kay will force on him. God, yes, please because it all comes back to him. It's all still there, the hunger, the need and the memory that Kay had once told him that he loved him.

"I don't know what love is. Don't you understand?" Marc forced out over buried emotions as if they were still having that final conversation. As if six months hadn't passed since they'd seen each other. Six months since Kay had vanished from his life. To silence him Kay wrapped his arms around the man shuddering in his arms.

For Kay the shock of running into Marc vanished, wiped away by the joy and surprise of having Marc's hard body pressed against his. Kay buried his nose against Marc's neck and found the evergreen scent of him, the coarse blond hair, and the familiar large hands twisted into his clothes. But something is wrong, something is different, and it's setting off alarms. Kay pulled back and tipped the other man's chin. What he held in his arms was not the man he knew six months ago. This stranger is thin, glassy-eyed, and trembling. There are no words he can say, no questions he might ask, he simply pushed Marc's head back against his shirt.

The other members file in creating a wake around the two men. No one blinks an eye. They'd all been there.

"Marc! Do you even know where you are?"

"I thought... I thought it was a bar?"

"No, you idiot." The affectionate tone was so familiar to Marc he leaned toward it. "It's an AA Meeting."

"Why are you here?" Marc raised his head, and Kay saw the dead eyes the hollow cheeks and the dark circles again.

"My job…" Kay glanced away and finally answered in a voice harsh, "They said I had to come, or I couldn't be a cop anymore. You?"

"I don't know. Lights. People. I need a drink. Let me go…." Panic rose again in Marc's chest, choking him. Get away! His feet began to move. He shrugged Kay's arms away. He didn't deserve kindness from this man. Hadn't he done the same to Kay? Hurt him, betrayed him and thrown him away just as he'd thrown Bettina's love away. He struggled against the very thing he wanted most. Hadn't he always wanted this? This thing he feared and would not name.

"Goddamn it, Marc. Talk to me. You can grant me a few seconds." Kay shoved him against the wall in fear more than anger. But the other words wouldn't come. It wasn't time for him to say how badly he missed him, how he thought about him and worried. Wished they'd been able to say at least goodbye.

"I don't know where else to go," Marc shouted. Heads turned in their direction. Kay pulled him into the hallway. Tears slipped through Kay's fingers as he cradled Marc's face.

"If I'm killing myself this is too slow… It's taking too long."

"Talk to me, Marc. Please."

Just like so many times before he ran away to the safety of a glass of whiskey. When he reaches the bar, he hurries inside and waits while his heart pounds for the glass to appear in his hands. The glass warms his hands. The scent of peat soothes him and the taste of the malt calm him down. The bartender pours him a second glass before he's finished the first. Marc nods his thanks and savors the single malt sliding down his throat.

"First time at the AA meeting?"

He looked up in surprise and realized he's not the first to escape the AA Meeting into this dark haven.

"Yeah," he shrugs his shoulders in resignation and drains the second glass.

Outside, with his hands stuffed into his pockets, Kay watches through the dirty window.

The winter storm buffeted Kay threatening to push him off his feet to get him moving and threatening to freeze him if he didn't get back to the meeting. Straining his eyes to see Marc through the heavily frosted glass windows Kay watched him down three shots of whiskey in as many minutes. A churning rage built in his gut, which did nothing to wash away his broken heart still overflowing with guilt and shame. Marc, why are you still running, still in denial and yet, hadn't he tried that too? It doesn't work. The nearly undeniable urge to smoke - fucking anything - gripped him by the throat. Goddammit, he cursed at both of their stupidity and headed back to the meeting.

Back inside the meeting room his feet and hands are barely defrosted when it's his turn to speak. Sinking further into his coat didn't stop the group from turning around with their expectant friendly faces. His head swiveled toward the exit while his feet are already in motion. A hand appeared, stopping him with a firm grasp. He allowed himself to be lead to a to the podium amidst a sea of smiles and welcome. Hiding behind the podium offers him little protection.

How had he arrived at this point in his life, he asked himself trying to find the breath to speak. Not even thirty years old and here he stood on the brink of throwing away a career and life. The love he might have called his own was already gone, lost and drowning in a sea of alcohol. His stomach flipped forcing him to swallow bile. The faces blurred, and the room was silent.

"My…um." His hands curled into fists. "My name is Kay Engle and I'm an addict." There, he'd said it. Now he could leave and do what? Join Marc at the bar, get drunk and struggle home with him through the snow? Yes! That's what he wanted. Struggling, laughing and clinging to each other until they finally fell into bed tearing at each other's clothes and enjoying a delightful way of warming up. Marc was just around the corner, within reach, just a few steps away.

To block out the other's voices he gets back to a chair and sinks back into his coat. The consuming rage builds again. Against the hot sting of moisture, the vision of Marc drinking himself to death takes him away in a storm of guilt and grief. The exit beckons and this time no one tries to stop him from leaving.


	2. Hard Broke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Source: Patriotic Europeans Against the Islamization of the West (PEGIDA) https://news.vice.com/article/anti-islam-rallies-are-gathering-support-in-germany-in-wake-of-charlie-hebdo-attacks

* * *

"When he died, all things soft and beautiful and bright would be buried with him" ―Madeline Miller, _The Song of Achilles_

* * *

Lights and sirens blaring, a police van careened around a corner, sliding in the muddy slush. Both threatened to empty Marc's stomach and the headache to pound against his temples with a faster tempo. He'd never come to work hungover. But seeing Kay that night had sent him on a binge he couldn't control. Now, here he sits with the other officers dressed in riot gear, with the hot stinking sweat of a drunk sliding in greasy rivulets down his skin. The close quarters and tension in the van is agonizing to his throbbing head. With is uniform soaking with sweat under the flak jacket while he kept his eyes downcast staring down at the weapon he's white-knuckled prevented his coworkers from catching his eye.

One or two of them knew about the drinking. Once he might have called them friends, but they've run out of ideas about how to help their fellow officer. All they can do is protect him from his superiors finding out. Until today never came to work drunk or hungover and with that realization he remembers this is how he lost everyone who'd loved him. Even his parents no longer knew how to help their son. And how long had it been since he held his own child? The whip of shame beat him while he fought the urge to vomit.

Finally, the police van slowed to enter the University gates. All around them students are shouting throwing bottles and debris. The noise level set Marc's head pounding so hard he had to close his eyes. The other officers watched through the small bulletproof windows at the rioting students and traded anxious glances. Hours of training had not prepared them for the violence outside the haven of the van.

Suddenly the doors flew open, and their sergeant began shouting orders. Someone grabbed Marc by the arm and urged him toward the exit. The shouting students hit them like a wave of energy. They don't need to be told twice to get into formation.

Something hard bounces off Marc's shield and knocks him back a step. A glass bottle shatters against his shield and the acrid smell of urine creeps under his helmet's protective mask. Several officers groan at the stink. Then behind him an officer shoved him back to the front of the line, "Pay attention, idiot! We'll be lucky if that's the worst of it."

On the other side of the quad, another police van pulls up, tires screeching on the concrete and throwing up a plume of dirty snow. For a moment, the angry crowd turns their attention toward the new arrivals. Their sergeant speaks quickly into his radio and watches as the other team forms up, waits a beat then issues orders to Marc's unit.

They rehearsed this scenario many times. The veteran cops warned the rookies the reality of an angry crowd was much worse. With his head swimming, Marc banged his stick against his shield, stumbled, caught himself and moved forward with his unit.

The plan is to control the students with a squad of officers on each side, slowly bottlenecking the crowd back into an area already secured with vehicles, additional officers, and bright orange emergency fencing.

The crowd is having none of it. They know their rights, but there are older adults infiltrating the group and as they rush in to join the students, more and more of them are wearing masks. In the distance, people exit their vehicles and run toward the crowd pulling masks over their faces. The laws are strict about wearing masks during demonstrations. The cheering and anti-Muslim protesters increase as masked rioters enter the fray carrying signs with anti-Muslim sayings and PEGIDA slogans.

The once-peaceful protesters grew quickly to an angry mob, whipped into a frenzy by the outsiders. Their unit is ordered to retreat to the protection of the van and regroup with other officers when a Molotov cocktail strikes the officer on Marc's right. The officer shouts and huddles under her shield. Marc tries to ward off the blow with his shield and assist the female, but the greasy fire splatters, burning his forearm.

The unmistakable sound of a shotgun goes off nearby.

Marc and another officer quickly extinguish the fire, and the medics pull the officer from the ranks. Another officer grabbed Marc and pointed to his arm.

"Borgmann, you're injured. Get back the with the medics!" Marc shook his head. No, he will not leave. These idiots will pay for this, and he will see to it.

The officer grabbed him again, "That's a goddamn order, Rookie!"

In the seconds between the female officer being removed and the argument between Marc and the senior officer, the angry mob surrounds them. Their packed bodies form a jeering wall of anger and hostility.

With his rage building, fueled by his pounding headache, Marc takes an ill-timed swing with his baton at the nearest adult wearing a mask. The older officer protected him from the answering blow and laid the masked protester out with a sharp crack from his baton. Then someone hidden in the crowd throws a jar full of feces directly at Marc. It splattered against his shield raining glass and stinking muck.

Marc fell to his knees wretching helplessly. Until someone tried to drag him away by the collar.

"Borgmann, get the fuck up! We've got to get out of here!" But he fights them off and rushes forward into the crowd.

The sounds of the crowd drown out every thought, and every shouted order coming through his radio. He just wants it to stop, and it will stop because he's a cop, and it's his duty. Behind him, Marc heard an officer shouting a warning and another yelling for help. He ignored them and tried to fight his way through the taunting faces.

Struggling to stay on his feet, Marc failed to notice a tall man in a mask clearing his way through the throng, before any of the officers can pull a weapon he hits Marc with a bat.

"Borgmann!"

Marc raised his arm, and the blow skipped off the clear polycarbonate shield. Another officer manages to get off a shot. While Marc, unaware of who is shooting shied away from the sound. Just before he notices the blossom of gore erupt from the man's black sweater, a second blow knocked his helmet off, spun him around and dropped him to the filthy ground.

The crowd, barely avoiding the fallen officer surges forward pursuing the police back to the defense perimeter. They don't get far when a blast of water from a strategically placed firetruck quickly disperses the angry mob allowing the officers enough time to regroup. Their sergeant does a head count and notices Marc Borgmann is not among his officers.

Behind them, in a pool of his blood and filth, Marc struggles to consciousness. The pounding of footsteps around him is disorienting and the radio chatter throbs in his ears along with his frantic panting while he tries to catch a breath. He paws for the radio at his shoulder, but it's gone, lost in the panic. Shouting for help only builds the pain into an agonizing beat that's keeping time with his heart. Marc turned his head to stare into the vacant eyes of a dead teenager lying a few feet from him. While his own body tries to save his life, he loses the feeling in his hands and feet.

The sky above him is blue with puffy white clouds floating on a spring breeze. He thinks of a day long ago when Bettina and he were at a park. A perfect moment of laying with his head in her lap feeling the baby's movements against his cheek and hand. Her face framed in the sunlight so beautiful and laughing with joy. If he concentrates and looks hard he can see her face in the sky above him. A moment when he loved and was loved in return.

The crowd hasn't noticed the second unit of officers running toward them to rescue the officers. Assembled in a flying wedge they quickly disperse the crowd separating them into few less dangerous numbers. Between the pressure of the fire hoses and the sound of automatic weapons firing harmlessly through the air, they begin to quiet down. Their actions more noticeable now, they quickly drop their weapons to the ground.

News of the riot spread quickly, and a local army battalion arrived on the scene to assist the officers. Above, helicopters begin landing further disassembling the mob. Masks lay discarded on the wet ground as many flee to their vehicles only to find the road blocked at the University main gate.

Injured protesters ironically call for help from the same group they fought against. A few lost children scream for their parents and several are helped to their vehicles by friends. An officer with a satchel on his shoulder stamped with a red cross begins to search the bodies. Assigned to assist the medics, Officer Engle hurries from body to body tagging a few and reassuring those still conscious. A sound caused him to raise his head from trying to calm a hysterical teenager and scanned the area. About fifty feet away he sees an officer struggling to roll over. There's something familiar about the man.

"Help is on the way," Kay shouted to the student and ran toward the officer. There are bodies between him and the downed man, but Kay doesn't stop, he can't. Until he skids to his knees as his brain identifies what his eyes and heart already know.

Blood seeps from his mouth as Marc tries to speak. Hands reach blindly for the presence kneeling over him.

Strong hands card Marc's hair back from his face. "Shh, lay still. They're coming."

"Kay?" He managed through the blood choking him. Kay turns his head so Marc can clear his throat. Tears trickled down the injured man's, Kay wiped them away with his fingers smearing the blood into the blond hair. When he tried to lift Marc's head to place a blanket under him, Kay's fingers touched his jaw and Marc screamed in reaction. The searing pain forced his eyes open and he finally recognizes who is with him. Marc's hands swing blindly trying to reach for Kay until finally he finds Kay's upper arms.

"Hang on," Kay reassured him staring into those light blue eyes he'd almost convinced himself he'd never see again. Marc is pale and beginning to tremble. He recognizes the symptoms of shock and removes his jacket to warm Marc. Finally managing to slide his hand under Marc so he can at least get his head off the ground.

Kay bends low, so Marc can hear him over the cacophony of sound. "I'm here," he says again and again, to fight the growing fear that Marc will die in his arms. "I won't leave you, I promise." As if those words will stop Marc from sinking lower into shock.

"Kay? I'm sorry... so sorry."

Kay tries to remain professional as he checks Marc for other injuries until he notices the full effect of Marc's drinking. The man is at least 10kg thinner then the night he saw him at the meeting.

"You fool. You stupid fool…" Gathering Marc up in his arms. The dirt and blood go unheeded as Kay whispers against the broken jaw, "Don't you leave me, don't you dare. Not now. Please."

But Marc cannot reply to Kay's whispered please, and Kay watches helplessly as Marc's eyes close and he falls limp and quiet in Kay's arms. When the emergency team finally arrives with a stretcher, Kay tries to fight them from removing Marc from his arms.


	3. Live Like it's Spring

* * *

"Whatever you can do, or dream you can do, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it! —Goethe

* * *

  _A child is crying. The plaintive weeping calls to him in a way he cannot resist. Children shouldn't be left to cry like that. Why isn't someone comforting that baby?_

_Something profound and primal reminds him it's his responsibility to help it. The world around him is dark, quiet, and unknown. He does the only thing he can and follows the sound, straining to see through the gloom, only to find his way blocked by a closed door. A hand, he's not sure belongs to him reaches for the handle, but the door is locked. The hand knocks…once… twice… three times. A sense of unworthiness nearly overwhelms him, and he almost steps away. The door finally swings open with a protesting groan._

_When he moves into the room, the crying stops, replaced by the sound of a baby's suckling. Drawn toward the quiet squeak of a rocking chair, he recognizes Bettina. Her light brown hair falls to her shoulders, and she sits in the chair with her back to him softly singing a lullaby._

_"Guten Abend, gute Nacht,_

_mit Rosen bedacht,_

_mit Näglein besteckt,_

_schlupf′ unter die Deck!_

_Morgen früh, wenn Gott will,_

_wirst du wieder geweckt._

_Guten Abend, gute Nacht,_

_von Englein bewacht,_

_die zeigen im Traum_

_dir Christkindleins Baum._

_Schlaf nun selig und süß,_

_schau im Traum's Paradies."_

_She's so beautiful like this, with their child in her arms, that his heart aches with need. He loves the sound of her voice and the fullness of her breasts as she feeds their son. He loves her for the gift of their child. For the love in her eyes when she gazes down at him gently rubbing her fingers through his blond curls. He loves her because for all his faults, ambitions, and selfishness she still loved him. He loves her because in spite of his betrayal she tried to save them._

_It's beyond his understanding how he could love this woman and yet so quickly turn to a man. Perhaps it wasn't men. It was that man. A man named Kay Engle. The man who made his desire clear without the usual games or romantic illusions. Kay gave him everything without asking for anything and all he did in return was destroy it._

_As he watches the woman, the one he thought of as the love of his life. The one with whom he imagined spending the rest of his days. Even watching her gentle hands move so gracefully. He realized he no longer remembers how to make love to her. She's a beautiful mother and a passionate lover. But he can't remember the touch of her hands on him, the taste of her, or how it felt when their bodies moved as one._

_The child, so intent on the nipple suddenly opens his blue eyes and stares up at his father. Shame demands he look away, but he cannot. Tears stain his cheeks as the stares into the depths of his son's eyes. An apology is on his lips when the child releases his mother's breast. With a drop of milk sliding down his round cheek grins up at his father. Small fists reach toward him. He reaches out and catches the drop of milk. The baby laughs, kicking its arms and legs with the joy of an innocent._

_Suddenly the baby screams in fear and vanishes. Trapped in a darkness thicker than a starless night with the only sound his heart pounding in his ears. The door is gone. Everything is gone._

Blind! He's blind, and his face is on fire. Hot bile burns his throat as his panic rises. Shouting for help is useless because his throat is broken. How is that possible? No, there's something in it. Something keeping him from taking a breath. He struggles against the restraints holding him to the bed. Weakened from the alcohol and the injuries he can't get far.

Hands on his shoulders pushing him down only increase his fear. Someone is speaking to him. The voice is soothing and familiar, and he yearns for it canting his body toward the sound. How long had that voice been talking to him?

"Marc, I'm here. Open your eyes."

Terror filled eyes snapped open, and his vital signs spike when he recognizes Kay. Technicians hurried into the room, pushing Kay away from the bed, but Marc grabs one of Kay's hand and tries to pull himself up. Kay winced as Marc crushed his fingers in a panicked grip. Ignoring the demands of the medical staff Kay wraps his free hand around Marc's neck.

"Look at me. Focus on me!"

Light blue eyes locked together. Kay willed him strength and Marc took pulling it through the grip of their joined hands. Finally, Marc's breathing slowed, and Kay was able to help him lay back down.

"Can't we get this damn tube out of his throat?" Kay shouted while Marc's fear and anxiety add to the spiraling emotions. Marc's grip on his hand is painful but welcome. There is sanity and life in those eyes and Kay nearly weeps with relief.

Officer Engle reluctantly removes Marc's hand and moves out of the way to allow the medical staff to work. With an anxious glance toward the hallway, he knows it's only a matter of minutes before Marc's parents show up. The only reason the staff allowed him in the room at all is his uniform. Once the family arrives, he'll be lucky if they ever let him back in and wonders if Bettina will come with them. So he pushes his way back to Marc and takes a second to lay his hand alongside his face with a smile he hopes in reassuring. The touch lasted a second, but it's enough for Marc to stop fighting, and he watches Kay move away never taking their eyes off each other.

The staff speaks to Marc in calming tones, promising to remove the tube if he relaxes. Another smile from Kay allows Marc to drop back on the pillow again. They work quickly, deflating the small balloon and allowing the tube to slide naturally from Marc's throat.

Kay's gag reflex reacts sympathetically when Marc begins to wretch and gasp for breath. The need to reassure himself that Marc is okay pushes him back toward the bed. He wants them to leave now, get out of the room. There are things he wants to say before Marc is lost to him again. His family must be almost here by now.

Finally, they are alone, and Kay sits on the bed next to Marc. Their fingers intertwine. Marc shakes Kay's hand and grunts with scared eyes looking for answers.

Stroking his hair, Kay said softly, "You're okay and very lucky. The shield took the brunt of the blow and your helmet protected you from a head injury." Kay smiled down at Marc trying to communicate. "Don't try to talk, you pussy. Your jaw is wired shut."

With an eye on the doorway, Kay brought one of his hands to his lips to kiss the fingers and hold the hand against his chest. "I have to go. Your family..."

Marc shook his head.

"I have to go. They won't be pleased if I'm here. I'll come back when I can. I promise."

With another grunt of pain and an effort that left him dizzy, Marc threw himself into Kay's arms. When he caught him all of Kay's resolve and anger dissipated, he buried his face in Marc's neck. "I'm so sorry…. I should have understood. Marc, I—"

Marc fought him by pulling back and shaking his head. Then Kay watched Marc's eyes widen when a second later someone grabbed him by the collar and dragged him off the bed. Unable to stop the momentum Kay found himself on the floor.

An older man stood over him with his fists clenched. "Get the fuck away from my son, faggot!"

Upset and exhausted, Kay climbed to his feet and managed to keep his temper under control. Still, straightening his uniform, he could not help but say, "The next time you touch me, Mr. Borgmann I'll charge you with assaulting an officer."

Behind the two men, Marc's mother wept openly, climbing on the bed next to her son to fuss.

"Get out of here before I call your boss. There's no place for the likes of you in my son's life!"

A doctor stepped into the room. His presence immediately calmed the swirling hostility. Marc's parents begin talking at the same time, asking questions and demanding Kay's removal. The doctor, a young man with black hair and green eyes, offered Kay a hand up.

"Officer Engle, will you come with me, please? I noticed you needed some first aid. You can't ignore those cuts and scrapes."

With a last look at Marc, Kay allowed himself the doctor to lead him from the room. The doctor pulled him into the first empty exam room he found. Indicating a chair, the doctor located first aid equipment while he speaks. "Apologies, Officer. I intended to let you know they were headed your way, but I got held up."

Kay shot him a look, and the doctor smiled. "How did I know? I saw your face when they brought him in. No one's looked at me with that much care and concern for a very long time." The doctor began to clean the blood and debris from Kay's hand. "Besides, we have to take care of each other, don't we?"

Too stunned to form an answer, Kay's experience with other gay men is limited to clubs, chance encounters, and one night stands. Beatings from his father, his mother's tears and accusations, and teasing in school left him with a deep-seated instinct to hide his true nature. University proved one of the loneliest times of his life. Not that there weren't gays on campus, by then Kay's anxiety about the discovery was highly tuned. His inhibition kept him on the sidelines, watching the openly gay men and women, having fun and demonstrating a level of affection in public he would never dare.

As the years passed and his isolation deepened, drugs and dark clubs provided a way out. The darkness hid him, and the loud music drowned the conflicting desires. If University provided him an escape from home, growing despondency and the abuse of drugs and drugs the Police Academy gave him a focus, challenge, and a home.

Then one day, he met his new roommate.

Tall and darkly blond with hooded eyes, the man's eyes intrigued him, and he wanted to move close enough to look into the pale blue depths. As Kay's attraction to Marc grew, he let Marc get dressed first because he didn't dare get out of bed. Even with his head buried in a pillow, feigning sleep, his body heated to the sound of Marc moving around the room. Once, Marc caught him staring at the sight of the broad shoulders, long muscular legs, and trim waist as Marc exited the bathroom. The blush that stained Marc's neck had caught at his heart. He should have said something then, expressed some emotion. Tested the waters with a friendly joke. Instead, the tension between them grew, and Marc took to dressing in the bathroom.

Kay yearned for something from the young man he didn't know how to ask. He wanted to earn a smile from the stern features. Get to know him better, even become friends.

"Are you okay, Officer?"

The doctor's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "If you allow your fears to keep you from letting him know your feelings toward him, you will lose him. He has a family, a woman, and a child. As he heals, it will be easier for him to sink back into what's familiar and safe. It won't be easy."

"It never fucking is." Kay scoffed pulling his hand away and moving toward the door away from this man forcing him to see truths he'd never faced. "Thanks for fixing my hands."

"Officer Engle, here is my cell. Call me after six. The evening meal will be over by then, and the parents gone. In fact, I'll make sure the parents are gone."

A hand landed on his shoulder. It was all he could do not to flinch away. "If you love him, if what I saw in the ambulance is genuine. Then don't lose this chance for happiness. I did, once, a long time ago. When I finally found the courage to search, I found him alone and dying of end stage complications of AIDS."

"I'm sorry. That must have been hard."

"It changed my life and one of the reasons I became a doctor." He stepped around in front of Kay and gripped his shoulders. "I see the long empty nights, bad nutrition, the drug use — you don't need to deny it — it's all there on your face. Officer Borgmann's blood alcohol level is high enough to obligate the hospital to report him to the authorities. I don't want to do that. So help me out. Go home, get yourself cleaned up, and call me."

Hot tears burned his eyes; he turned his head and blinked them away. No one had ever spoken to him like this. No one had ever cared enough. Kay couldn't trust himself to speak, so he simply nodded and fled the room.

Outside a light snow began to fall, glittering like falling crystals illuminated in the street lights. Kay zipped his jacket and started walking. A park across the street from the hospital drew him in and for an hour he walked aimlessly, head down his mind in turmoil.

Each step lacerated him with guilt and grief for what might have been. Marc could have been killed or left with brain damage by that protester. If he hadn't been so selfish, if he hadn't been so stupid about Marc's home life. The man was under enough stress, and he'd pushed him into an affair. Called him when he knew Bettina could easily see his cell phone log and encouraged him to use drugs. Gave him keys, difficult to keep hidden because once you hid something from someone you love trust is destroyed. He was nothing more than a selfish, heartless bastard.

But damn, hadn't it been good while it lasted.

Earlier, Marc seemed glad to see him or was that just fear? He couldn't be sure, and he would never know unless he asked. When he finally found his way back to his car, he had a plan. First, shower and change, then call the doctor.

Three hours later, the doctor met him at the nurses station. Two of the nurses smiled knowingly. One of them, a handsome blond the size of a footballer or a maybe a Viking winked. Did everyone know what a fool he was about to make of himself?

"He's awake. Go on," the Doctor said kindly and gave him a quick shove to get him moving. The door to Marc's room clicked shut behind him. Kay swallowed hard and tried to calm down, but his heart stirred something in his gut, and a trickle of cold sweat shivered down his spine.

Then Marc turned his head, and there were those blue eyes. Twelve hours after the accident, the purple bruising on Marc's red and swollen face is heartbreaking. Without knowing quite how he got there, Kay is climbing on the bed and touching his cheek to the uninjured side of Marc's face.

Then he pulled back sharply, leaving a question in Marc's eyes. He shouldn't touch him. Don't screw this up, he warned himself. So he said the first thing he could think of that wasn't about himself. "Your family. Did…" Kay cleared his throat. "Did you see your son?"

Marc nodded, but the question remained in his eyes.

"Do you think someday, I could meet him?" Kay glanced away. This was harder than he thought. What did he have to offer this beautiful man? Wild sex in filthy bathrooms, a quick fuck against a vehicle, drugs and not much else. He should just leave and let Marc get on with his life.

Something came out of him, boiling like hot tar into his throat. A sob tore open his mouth. He couldn't stop it.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry… so stupid."

Strong arms circled his shaking shoulders and pulled him down to the bed. A strong hand carded through his hair and pressing his head down to a familiar shoulder. Kay felt the solid thump of Marc's heartbeat against his cheek and thought he could get used to this. In fact, he wanted very much to get used this.

Dragging a sleeve across this face, he sat up. He took courage from the injured man's emotion filled eyes.

"If you want to stay with Bettina and your son, then I won't interfere. But, if you want to… if you want to try… Please don't say no." Kay's voice sped up trying to prevent Marc from interrupting and sending him away. "I want to help you raise your son. I could do that. I want to do that with you… learn how. Eat meals together in a real home… argue and make up and heal together…"

He loved this man. What would he do when Marc sent him away? The man had a real family. Wiping his face with his hands, Kay turned to leave and get out of Mard's life.

The sound of scribbling drew his attention back to Marc. What was he doing? Marc kept wiping his eyes and getting frustrated because he couldn't see to write. Finally, he tossed the pad at Kay.

In scrawled letters it read, _Dont be a pussy and leave me. I need u. Yes 2 evrything. I love u 2!_

* * *

 

Brahms's Lullaby, (Lullaby and Goodnight"

"Lullaby and goodnight, with roses bedight  
With lilies o'er spread is baby's wee bed  
Lay thee down now and rest, may thy slumber be blessed  
Lay thee down now and rest, may thy slumber be blessed

Lullaby and goodnight, thy mother's delight  
Bright angels beside my darling abide  
They will guard thee at rest, thou shalt wake on my breast  
They will guard thee at rest, thou shalt wake on my breast"


	4. Epilogue

* * *

"Stop! What are you doing?"

"The laundry?"

"Do you even know how to sort clothes?"

Kay dropped the load of whites and blue jeans and uniform shirts on the floor in exasperation with an exaggerated sigh. Just one more thing he apparently didn't know how to do. First, it was the dishes. Was it his fault he'd never learn to load a dishwasher? Then he left his clothes on the bathroom floor for the tenth time. Apparently Marc kept count. Now, it was the laundry.

"I'm doing it again aren't I?" Marc reached for Kay and gave him a quick teasing kiss on the lips. "Let me show you. If you…"

"No, let me show you." Kay took Marc's face in his hands and kissed him hard and quick. Foreheads together, Marc leaned into that smile, letting his frustration dissipate to enjoy the slide of the other man's arms around his waist, the clean masculine scent of him and the taste of him on his lips. Fuck the laundry. Marc pushed him against the small washer and dryer with his body so they touched lips to feet. Desire heated the space between them until Kay pulled Marc's hips toward his to share the growing need. Marc grinned and returned the kiss without the usual reservation or fear. They were past that now, both healthy and committed to each other. The home they made for themselves in a spacious apartment, a safe and comfortable space. Bettina and Marc shared custody of their son, so their routine run through the woods was often accompanied with his son in a stroller.    

"Marc, look." Kay turned Marc's head toward the living room. In the center of the room was his son's playpen. With his brow creased in concentration, with sure hands and a steady pull his son was suddenly standing on his own two feet for the first time. Then he looked up to see Marc and Kay grinning at him. He grinned back, laughing with delight at his accomplishment. When he let go of the sides to clap his small hands together he fell on his butt with a thump. A frown replaced the grin, and before he could release his frustration, his father scooped him up and gave him a kiss.

"Good job!" His father said, hugging his son.

Kay stepped forward and slid his arms around Marc with the child between them. While his son giggled at all the attention, Kay kissed Marc's cheek.

"Thank you for this."

Marc shook his head, "Thank you for never giving up on me."

"Then we're even," Kay responded with a grin.

"Not even close."

"Well, you could make it up to me tonight." Kay's smile turned mischievous. "I am getting a little bored with clean sheets, it's off-putting, you know? Maybe we could... in the bathroom for old time's sake?"

"If you get the laundry done without turning our underwear _Polizei_ blue I'll grant your wish."

Kay began to sort the laundry enthusiastically. From the kitchen where he was feeding his son, Marc shouted, "I love you!"

"I love you, too Officer Borgmann," he said softly. Wondering if he'd ever felt happier in his life sorting laundry and listening to Marc's voice speaking to his son and the happy sounds of the little boy echoing through the apartment.

~ _das Ende~_


End file.
